In 1980, I had a friend named Leonard Miller. He was a rookie police officer in a small town named Apollo in Southwestern Pennsylvania. He was a good police officer and a good man. He had his whole life ahead of him. Leonard was African American, born to Mr. and Mrs. John Miller; their only child. In the early morning hours at the beginning of 1980, he was doing his job. He was doing what he loved to do. He loved to help people. He was a big, happy guy. Two young men, John Lesko and Michael Travaglia, sped past him in a car ... twice. The first time, Officer Miller let them go. The second time, he followed and pulled them over for speeding. They shot him twice in the chest. He died face down along the side of a cold, wet road. Mr. Lesko and Mr. Travaglia were eventually apprehended, tried, convicted and sentenced to death. During the same weekend, these two men killed three other people. They pled guilty to all of these killings. I was a sophomore in high school at the time. I remember looking at the body in the casket. I remember wanting revenge. I don't want revenge any longer. I'm 37; too old for vengeance. John Miller and his wife were at the funeral home. They looked older than I had ever remembered them. They are both dead now. There seem to be a lot of people speaking for Mr. Lesco and Mr. Travaglia. Nobody speaks for Officer Miller any more. He should not be forgotten.